The Memories Of Us
by sienna27
Summary: Memories Universe. Story 2 of 3. Season 4, missing AU scenes post '30 Days Without An Accident.' Carol gets a present from Glenn. Established Caryl, and M for sex of a not too explicit nature.


**Author's Note** : Hi all! I know this is nothing that anybody has been waiting on, but it's something :) And the other things are coming. Cedar Forest very, very soon.

Those of you who follow me on Tumblr might have seen my posts about my ongoing rewatch in the hopes of getting my writing brain sorted out. The initial kernel for this came about after again seeing ' _30 Days Without An Accident_ ,' and then I looked over my story prompts, solidified my vague idea into an actual plot, and ended up with this. When I did the first draft I was so sure (and kind of excited) about it just being a little ficlet of a couple thousand words . . . we ended up over 10k :) It still feels short to me though! But if you know my writing, that's because it does still fall below what's become my 'standard sized,' novella length posts ;)

And side point to my prompts mention, if you are a writer with any interest in new TWD fic prompts (example of the one I used here listed below) you can find them on my alt Tumblr. I've been running that page for years with a friend who also wrote in Criminal Minds, but we both stopped writing there so we recently morphed the page into 'multi-fandom' (TWD included) to not let it go to the weeds. Essentially, the prompts are all titles of either TV episodes or books, and you'd have like four years of prompts already out there on the 'master list' if you were looking for some fresh inspiration. We'll be putting out our annual Christmas ones in the next week or so. This is the main link: cmfanficprompts . tumblr . com

For this, familiarity with the above ep is helpful for background on the general events that happened earlier in the day, but from there I went AU, so you can just go with what's on the page. And I pushed Patrick's death, and the whole infection, cell block massacre, off for the next night. It would have been very inconvenient here :)

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 **November 2016 - TV and Author Prompts**

Show: Cold Case

Prompt: Pinup Girl

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 **The Memories Of Us**

Carol took a deep breath before she tipped her head to the side, to peer through the small gap between the thin curtain in front of her, and the concrete wall beside her. And as she'd expected, through that gap, she could see Daryl lying back on his bunk with his arms crossed, staring down at the closed book in his lap. It was one that she'd picked out for him from the prison library . . . _The Naked and the Dead._

It was the second time that he'd read it.

For a moment she just watched him, foolishly allowing herself to believe that maybe he hadn't yet realized she was out there. But then she heard him let out a sound that she knew well . . . the heavy sigh. That was followed immediately by the grumble.

"Any particular reason why you're hoverin' in the doorway?"

Her lips twisted then in a wry smile as she reached out to snag the edge of the curtain.

"I was trying to decide if you wanted company or not," she answered softly, feeling the stiff cloth brush over her arm as she stepped across the threshold and into the cell that Daryl had marked off for himself all those months earlier.

And though she would have thought her answer for why she'd paused for a moment, was pretty straightforward, somehow her words seemed to surprise him. Because his fingertips tapped twice on the cover of the book, before he tipped his head back to look up at her with a slight furrowing of his brow.

"When would I ever not want to see you?"

Though his confusion about her answer seemed genuine, Carol could recall so many times since their group had fallen together, where something had gone wrong, and he'd just wanted to deal with it on his own. Those occurrences admittedly had come up less and less often as they'd grown closer, but she still didn't take it for granted that her presence at the end of a bad day was always going to be welcomed. Because the key to being with Daryl . . . and they'd been together now for just about five months . . . was knowing when to come in and give him a cuddle, and when to just go back to her own cell and give him some space. Given though how when she sat down, he immediately brought his arm up to slide it around her hips, she was thinking that apparently her balancing act hadn't been necessary today.

Because he definitely wanted a cuddle.

So she let him tug her down and into his arms for a tight squeeze that he held for a good ten count. Then it was into a kiss that was little more than a peck on the mouth. But he more than made up for that with the whisper against her lips of, "you don't have to hover anymore sweetheart, you just always come right in."

Her eyes started to burn.

And she pulled back with a sniffle and a watery smile.

"Okay, I will," she answered with a faint crackle in her voice, "because when Glenn told me what had happened to poor Zack, all I wanted to do was come see you, because all I could think was," she sniffled again, "thank God it wasn't you."

In some ways it was a terrible thought, but not one that she felt any guilt about. Because at the end of the day, she'd see every last one of the new people dead, than lose even a single member of their actual family. And Daryl, over their time on the road, and then these last six months at the prison, he'd become more than just her family. He was her best friend, her lover, and her closest confidant. Losing him might not literally kill her . . . but it would hollow her out. And if you've got nothing left inside you, you've got nothing left to fight for. And nothing left to fight with.

You might as well be dead.

That was the thought on her mind then, though she could see how in the way that Daryl's jaw was working as his brow darkened, that he currently had another thought. One where he was reliving that moment Glenn had told her about.

The one where Zack was being torn apart by that walker, and his body left to turn.

That was the difference between the new people and their family. Family was never left behind, and they were never allowed to turn.

Not if it could be helped.

If Zack had been family, someone would have tried to put a bullet in his head before they left, and they would have already had planned a run back tomorrow to retrieve his body, (undead or not), for burial.

But he wasn't family.

So now he'd be just another walker roaming that lot. Nobody would go back to retrieve him. He was just a person now in their past. One more lost, out of a few hundred million already gone. This was the life. She swallowed.

At least that what's they called it.

Suddenly realizing from the way Daryl was chewing on his lip, that he'd collected his own runaway thoughts, and he now had something to say. So she laid her hand out flat on his chest and stroked her thumb over the V of bare skin where his top shirt buttons were undone.

Then she listened.

"I was the one that picked him for today," he started in a quiet voice, that immediately became softer still, "so I was the one that had to tell Beth." His nose twitched, "she took it kind of funny. I mean," he gave a half shrug, "she was sorry he was gone, but not too sad really." He bit his lip again as his words trailed off, "she just turned and reset the board."

Carol blinked and looked down. And when she looked back up, she cleared her throat.

"Well," she murmured, "it had only been like a month for them, right?" Then her voice cracked, "not like us."

His eyes filled then.

"No," he answered back with a swallow and a furious blink to push those tears away, "no, not like us."

And seeing how hard he was trying to keep it together . . . it wasn't just about them, or Zack, it was that the more responsibility he took on, the more each of these deaths weighed on him . . . Carol immediately lowered her head down to pull him into another kiss.

That one was not a peck.

And that one went on long enough for him to make a mess of her hair, get her shirt untucked, and to definitely distract them both from their brief bout of melancholy. So when she finally broke away with one last suck on his tongue, she and twisted to lie down next to him, until her whole upper body was lined up with his. She rested her head down on his shoulder, and her hand on his stomach.

His heartbeat was pounding in her ear.

A moment passed, and then another. And for those moments that were slipping away, they lay there together, quiet and still. Even with her slightly odd angle, Daryl once again had his arm where it had been when she'd first dropped down onto the bed . . . wrapped tight around her hips.

The hand on his other arm was holding her fingers.

When they were alone, _all_ alone, he was always holding onto her. Waist, hips, hands . . . shoulders. Whatever he could grasp, just to keep her close. It was almost like he was saving it up for all those hours when they couldn't be together.

Because they never knew when they could be pulled apart.

Finally she felt him let out a breath. Then he patted her hip.

"How'd story time go?" He whispered, clearly ready for them to move on to other things. "Anybody catchin' on yet?"

Knowing immediately that he was referring to her unsanctioned by the council, 'baby weapons training,' Carol let out a sigh.

"Actually," her nose twitched, "Carl caught me flat out, and I asked him not to tell Rick, but," she bit her lip, "I don't know what he'll do. Part of me knows it's not fair to ask him to lie to his father, but . . ."

And then Daryl cut in with a slight bite to his tone.

"It ain't a lie," he grunted, "he just wouldn't be bringin' up something he had no reason to be aware of to start. Like if Rick were to find out, and then if he were to say to me, 'Daryl did you know,' I'd say 'yes, yes I did.' And then I'd let the chips fall where they did on that one. But I ain't going to be the one to bring it up, 'cuz," he squeezed her hand, "what you're doin' is right. We can't protect all these people, all the time. And the next time something goes wrong in a big way, like it always will, those little ones need to have a fightin' chance, or we might as well just dump 'em over the fence right now as walker chow."

Then, perhaps sensing from the way she'd flinched against his shoulder, that his words had sounded harsh, his fingertips dug into her waist, as he let out a slow exhale.

"Sorry," he apologized both with the word, and a nuzzle of her temple, "that wasn't a pretty thought to share. But I just know Rick's head still hasn't got back to the place where he can see that reality again." Then he nodded slowly to himself, "he'll get there though. He just needs a little more time to make his peace with the past." His jaw twisted, "I just hope we can give it to him."

"Well," she cleared her throat, "even if we can't, at least he's better now, and uh," she sniffed, "Hershel told me that he talked to him about the gun thing. Rick promised that he'll start wearing it outside the fence again."

"Hmm," Daryl hummed, "yeah, when we came back I saw he had it on. That's good," he bit his lip, "'cuz that was worrying me some, him bein' out there with just his knife."

It was a point that had been worrying her some too . . . it had been worrying them all. That's why they'd elected Hershel to bring it up. And he had. So that was one less thing (hopefully) that would be weighing on them. That just left about a thousand other wrinkles to iron out. She closed her eyes for a second.

No big deal.

And once she'd confirmed that the concern about Rick's safety outside the fence had been addressed, Daryl got quiet again. But she had to break that quiet. Because sharing their day with each other, and talking things out, it was so important. The good stuff, and the bad, even the tedious or boring, what mattered was not keeping things from the other. But she knew that as close as they were, Daryl's tendency was still to shut down first, because just in general he wasn't as talkative as she was. Hell, he wasn't talkative at all.

Which was why it was always on _her,_ to keep the rhythm going.

So she added one more discussion point to their day end conversation. Something that she thought was kind of fun, and she hoped that he would think so too.

Her gift from Glenn.

"You know," she continued on with a lighter tone as she twisted her upper body around a bit and tipped her head back to catch his gaze, "Glenn brought me back a camera today. It's the kind where the pictures come right out, so they don't need to be developed."

Though her hope had been that Daryl might actually see the benefit in such a device, given how his mouth immediately twisted and his brow darkened, it was obvious that he wasn't at all impressed with the gift.

He actually seemed pretty pissed off by it.

"What in the hell's he thinkin' we need pictures for?" He grumbled then as he brought his hand on her stomach back up, and kind of waved it around with a sneer of disgust, "does he think we want to be _rememberin'_ all this someday?"

Feeling an ache in her chest at the bitterness that had unexpectedly crept into the voice of her sweet man, Carol brought her hand up to cup his cheek.

His eyes immediately snapped back down to hers.

"Hon," she whispered with a brush of her thumb along his chin whiskers, "you know we're all building a life together here. You, me, Glenn, the Grimes, the _Greenes_ , all of us, for however much time we can carve out for ourselves. _That's_ what we want to remember," her mouth twisted then as her voice broke, "because you know we're not going to all make it to the end."

Daryl winced and looked over to the grey, paint chipped wall across from them. There was a trail of mold and water damage coming down from the ceiling.

When his eyes tracked away from that, and back to hers, he bit his lip.

He nodded.

"Yeah," he answered on an exhale, "I know, sweetheart. But I guess that's why I don't really see the point of the pictures. Because this isn't a physical place we'd want to remember, and by the time our end comes, I think we'll have lost too much to want to look back at the faces. Really," his nose twitched, "I think I already have got to that point. But," he brought his hand down to pat her stomach, "I guess I understand if you feel different. I just never had much use for photos to start, because we never kept any in the family. And all the stuff I wanna remember," he pulled his hand away again, that time to point to his temple, "it's all up here." His hand fell again, that time to curl up on his thigh, "everybody has their place. And they ain't goin' to get lost or left behind . . ." he bit his lip, "'cuz I just keep 'em with me."

His voice trailed there at the end. And again, Carol knew that he was thinking back on things. Likely to Merle. Maybe to Dale.

Definitely to Sophia.

So she just let it go at that. Because she knew what he meant. With everything burning at the farm, including her daughter's clothes in the RV, all she had left of Sophia were the memories, and a little hair scrunchie that Carol had been wearing on her wrist that day when they'd had to run. What she wouldn't give though, to still have one picture. Just one little tiny, faded, snapshot of her baby girl. Because it was horrible enough that in the end, you had to let everyone go, it was just an extra cruelty for the last image of them in your mind to be the monster they became, and not the face that you loved.

It wasn't a point worth dwelling on now though. Her last picture of her daughter was lost in the ashes of the farm. But she'd like to have a photo of Daryl to keep tucked away. And one of Carl. And Judith. And Rick.

And all the rest of the family too.

Because these were the new faces that she would mourn. And she didn't want their death, or undeath, to be the last image in her mind. The next time she lost someone she loved, she'd like to be able to walk away from that grave and go back to her cell, and pull out a little baggy. Then she could slide out that face, and run her fingertip over their features. ' _There you are,'_ she could say with a smile.

 _There you are again._

So she told Daryl that. She told him why she felt different, and why, for her, it wasn't just enough to have the pictures in her head. And when she was done speaking, he was quiet for a second, then he gave a slow nod.

"I get it . . . I get it."

Twice he said it. Both times a whisper, and then he was quiet again. So she cuddled into his side and buried her face against his neck. And she could have fallen asleep there, but for him patting her hip.

"Naw, sweetheart," he murmured while giving her a little push, "let's go to your bed. Don't want you sleepin' on the dirty sheets."

Her eyes crinkled then, because he was sweet like that. Even with the daily filth that surrounded them, and how they all spent at least one shift a day splattering walker heads with a metal spike, he didn't like her sleeping on dirty sheets.

And his sheets were always visibly dirty.

Of course most the time he was too, but that didn't bother her a bit. The sheets didn't either, but somehow it had become a tripping point for him. And of course she could have pointed out, nicely, that if he would just take off his dirty clothes before he got into bed, then the sheets wouldn't get dirty too. But that wasn't something that she was going to say. Because again, she didn't care about the dirt.

It was his quirk, not hers.

To make him happy though, she let him slide her over until her boots fell to the floor, then they helped each other up. And with his arm around her waist, his bow again in his hand, and her head on his shoulder, they walked out to the catwalk, and headed down, counting past three cells, until they reached hers in the middle of the row.

The only difference from the outside of the one they'd just left, was the color of the curtain in front of them. His was brown.

Hers was white.

But when he pulled back that cloth, and they stepped inside, things _were_ very different. Because unlike Daryl, who had only brought in a chair and a milk crate to spruce up his place, she'd actually decorated a little.

Or really, more accurately, he'd _helped_ her decorate a little.

After they'd started to get settled, she'd told him what she wanted to bring in, and he'd found it for her either out in his travels, or just over in the Administration building. So she had a desk, and a chair, a nice lamp, one fancy Chinese vase with a Cherokee rose (Daryl replaced that rose whenever the old one wilted) and lastly, one shelf on the back wall, and two on the side. Those shelves were covered with books.

Lots of books.

The books were hers and his both though. He just kept his there with hers rather than in his own cell. The only one he ever kept at his place, was whatever one he was reading at the time. And she was vaguely curious why that was, but it was another thing that she'd never asked about. It was another thing that she probably never would ask about. Because she had her theory on why he kept his books in her cell, and she was pretty sure it was the right theory.

So she'd rather not hear different from him.

On that night, after Daryl had locked their cell door as he always did . . . it was the only time they were ever really safe outside of the guard towers . . . he eyeballed her vase, and tsked to himself that he needed to find her a new rose. Then he took a breath, put down his bow on the floor, and started to help her get undressed for bed. And see that was the thing. When they went to bed in her cell, they always stripped, straight down to their skivvies.

Both of them.

But when they went to bed in HIS cell, he left his damn clothes on. That's why her sheets stayed clean for the week, and his got filthy in a day. Clearly any person with half a working brain . . . and Daryl had FAR more than a half working brain . . . could see what the problem was there. So yet again, she had her theory on why he did one thing in his cell, and another thing in hers. And yet again, she wasn't going to bring it up to him, because she liked their arrangement just the way it was. And sometimes if you talked about things, even if you didn't ask for a change, you still made it happen.

So she just left it all alone.

And after Daryl was down to his boxers, and she was down to just her panties, with her nipples starting to pop in the cool night air, Carol turned off her lamp, and then moved in to climb onto the lower bunk. Daryl followed in right after, reaching down to pull her sheets and blankets up over both of them, before he settled back and put his head on his pillow. And yes indeed, he did have his own pillow in her cell.

Just like she had one in his.

On that night, it took only a moment for them both to get settled. And settled for bed on nights that they didn't make love, meant that she wrapped her mostly naked self around his side, and he cuddled her close against his chest. It was because his body ran so hot, that she didn't need any extra layers to keep warm.

More to the point though, it felt so much better without them.

And on that night, she knew from the lines she'd seen around his eyes, that together, they wouldn't be doing anything more than sleeping. That wasn't to say he didn't send her off to sleep right, though. Because even on the days when intercourse was not had (and those days were admittedly pretty rare) he still always either played with her nipples, or he'd stroke his thumb over her clit until she was muffling a cry against his throat. One day she'd asked him why that was, why he always went out of his way to do that for her, even when he was too tired for sex himself. And he'd given her a little smile then, as he'd told that he wanted her to have good dreams, and he thought she'd have a better shot at that if she could fall asleep happy. That was still probably the sweetest thing he'd ever said to her.

And he said sweet things to her all the time.

So per the usual, once they were cuddled up, she felt his hand sliding down between her legs. And a few breathless minutes later, she was burying her face into his chest, to cover that final squeal.

"Thank you," she panted out, just like she always did now when he took care of her that way. He just kissed her temple and rubbed her stomach.

"Of course sweetheart," he murmured back, "of course. Now you have good dreams."

That's when she closed her eyes and kissed his chest. And she did have good dreams. They were of him, and of Sophia. In her dreams, there was no Ed. Daryl had been her baby's father. And they'd lived out in the back country, where he'd taught their girl how to shoot and hunt from a very young age. So when the turn came, Sophia had already known how to take care of herself. Daryl had made sure of it. She'd never died in the woods because when Rick had left her, she'd had her own little knife, and the skill to use it. So their daughter was still alive.

Still alive, and happily living there in the prison.

When Carol woke up in the morning, she had a smile on her face. Though it only took a moment for her to realize that she was by herself in the bunk, but that wasn't a surprise. Because she and Daryl both had so many responsibilities there at the prison, that often one or the other of them was usually up and out before dawn. Sometimes, like if their plans for the day had changed, they'd leave a note just to let the other one know where they'd be. Not a goodbye note . . . never that . . . more of a, "if you need me, here's where I am," than anything else. It was important for people to always know where you were.

Just in case.

And on that day, Carol did wake up to find her small, lined notebook lying open next to her on Daryl's pillow. As expected, it did outline his changed plans for the day. It was just her man's neat printing on the lower left hand corner, of the page already half filled with their back and forth.

' _Couldn't sleep, so gone to check the snares. Love you. Be safe.'_

As soon as she saw the ' _love you,_ ' Carol could feel the tears pooling in her eyes. Because it was the first time he'd said the L word in a note. Not that she hadn't already known that Daryl loved her. He showed her that every day, in at least a dozen ways. And he had even said it one time before, right when they were falling asleep. It was five months earlier, and only the second time that they'd had sex. The first time had been an unexpected, frantic coupling, one afternoon down in the laundry room where they'd been doing an inventory of their detergent supplies. It had been so long for them both, that maybe five or six minutes against the wall, was all it had taken. That had been just as well though.

They'd barely had time to yank up their pants before they'd heard footsteps in the hall.

That second time though, later that night, it had been up in the back guard tower ( _their_ tower, not Maggie and Glenn's) on a pile of roughhewn blankets. That man, her man, with all of his physical strength and stamina . . . and more importantly, no longer coming off thirteen plus, months of celibacy . . . had worshiped her body for an hour. He'd licked every inch of her, sucked her toes and her fingers, had gone down on her twice, and had fucked her until she was screaming his name into the night. It wasn't until the end, when she'd come for the fifth time, and him for the second, that he'd given her one last sleepy kiss and dropped his head down onto her chest.

"I do uh . . . I do l-l-love you, you know," he'd whispered a bit haltingly against the curve of her breast. And she'd nodded and brushed her fingers through his sweaty hair.

"I know you do, hon," she'd murmured back, "I love you too."

And that was that. That was the only time he'd ever said it out loud. There had been a few other occasions where it had seemed like he was about to, but then he'd kiss her instead. For him, the physical affection was easier to express than the verbal. Maybe, if she was going to analyze it, it was because "love" wasn't a word that he had any previous familiarity with, because it most definitely had not been a word used in his family. For her though, he'd been trying.

Really hard.

Not that she'd asked him to, she would never, because what they had wasn't about words. But it was like it had become important to him, that he could get himself to a point where he could express it easily like she could. Because whenever she wrote him a note, she always said I love you at the end. Sometimes she even signed those notes with a big fat girly heart that had an arrow through it. She only did that though on their lighter days, just to make him laugh. Because whenever she left that stupid heart, she'd always come back to find the notebook moved from his pillow to hers, with his scribbled response just below her last line. And it always said the same thing.

' _Stop.'_

And she'd smother a giggle and close her book again. Their exchanges weren't exactly love letters, but they were them. So she wanted to keep them as long as she could. Because just like Daryl had said, eventually everything that meant anything now, always got lost or left behind. That's why she flipped through those exchanges at least once a week. She wanted to remember it all.

For when it was gone.

This one today though . . . her eyes crinkled as she let the pages flutter closed . . . this note would be one she would not forget. And after she'd got up, and placed her notebook back onto the corner of her desk, she freshened up with her packet of wipes, got dressed in 'clean enough' clothes, and then finally had herself a quick breakfast of a not yet expired (a novel treat), cinnamon raisin breakfast bar, that Daryl had brought back for her from his last run.

It was delicious.

After that, she headed out to do her chores, and from there the day went quickly, as the days so often did. And when she finally got back to her cell in the late afternoon, and had a little time to herself, she was planning to unwrap her new camera from Glenn, to start taking her pictures. Judith especially she wanted to get a shot of that day, because somebody had decided to dress her in the cute little green onesie, with the happy squirrel on her belly.

It was another treasure that Daryl had found.

Because like all the rest of them, he loved that baby like it was his own. So there was no doubt that a child of Daryl Dixon's, would own clothes with woodland creatures on them. Which was why he'd been near fit to bust, when he saw Judith wearing the squirrel on that first day after it came out of the laundry.

"That's my lil' ass kicker," he'd murmured with a tiny smile, while taking her from Beth's arms, "that's my baby girl." Then he'd walked off down the cell block, cooing in her ear, and rocking her in his arms.

Those were the kinds of moments where Carol had wished she'd had a camera.

And now she did have one. For some reason though, it wasn't sitting on her top bunk where she'd left it the night before, and had again seen it that morning when she'd changed her clothes. Theft though within the prison itself was nearly unheard of, and on their family's secure wing, pretty much impossible. So all she could think was that Glenn must have borrowed it back for some reason. After all, she knew that he'd gotten a camera for himself too, so maybe he'd needed to compare the two to see how one of the features worked.

It made as much sense as anything else.

Still, with the one thing Carol had planned on doing for herself, not possible to do, she decided to just make herself useful and go help with dinner. That wasn't a chore she had to focus on personally for every meal, every day now, because she was the one in charge of making up most of the chore schedules. Which meant that she usually assigned herself just one shift a day, and then spread out the remaining ones to the women (and men) who weren't physically up to going out on runs, or clearing the fences.

Gender assigned tasks had become a thing of the past in the new world.

The cooking was one thing that she had always enjoyed doing though. It was nice to feed people. To take care of them that way. Which was why Carol would often find herself pitching in with the kitchen duties, even on her off time. Because there was always more hard work to go around, than there were people available to do it. That had been true even before the world ended.

It was even truer now.

And it was lucky that she'd decided to help put the serving dishes out, because the front mess was where she'd finally caught up with Daryl for the first time since she'd fallen asleep in his arms the night before. And as always when they were out in public, they were discreet with their behavior. He just gave her a look from under his bangs, and she gave him a smile, and that was that. Of course everyone at the prison knew they were together, but the last thing in the world Daryl would ever do on the day to day, would be to exchange in a PDA. The only time he'd ever kissed her in front of anyone else, it still had just been in front of the family. It was a special occasion.

In more ways than one.

She'd remembered him saying once that his birthday was in early August, and when Sasha had joined up with the group, they'd learned the actual real calendar date from her (accurate to at least within a few days at least), because she'd said that in Woodbury, The Governor had been obsessed with knowing the days that passed. So when "August" rolled around, Carol had decided to make Daryl a birthday cake. On a run one day , she'd found two boxes of Dunkin Hines chocolate mix, and three containers of pre-made vanilla frosting, that she'd hidden away in her bunk for a special occasion. And there was no occasion more special than celebrating her man's appearance on the planet. But she'd known that really the cake should be for everyone in their family. To celebrate that they were all still alive.

And they had found each other.

So she'd cobbled together the ingredients to bake the cake (thank God that at the time they'd had two good hens laying eggs) and then she'd dressed up the canned frosting, with some confectioner's sugar (they'd found a huge bag in the prison supplies) and a box of unsweetened chocolate powder that Sasha had found out on a run a few weeks before. By the time she was done, she'd pulled together a cake big enough to for all of them to get a big fat, slice for dessert, two days in a row. That first day though, when Daryl had been called in for their bogus 'council meeting,' and had seen what she was putting down on the table, it was one of the few times (outside of the two of them being naked), that she could recall him really grinning from ear to ear.

That's when he'd leaned down and kissed her cheek.

Later that night he'd taken her up to their tower, and he'd given her his own special treat that went on for so long, that by the time he was done, she'd come three times. The last one so violently, that she'd nearly yanked a clump of hair out of his head.

That was all for making that chocolate cake.

On this day though, there was no special dessert for anyone. So they made their respective cycles through the food line, and then walked off with their plates to go sit alone out in the courtyard.

The sun was just starting to roll back behind the trees.

It wasn't until she had finished her last bite of the leftover venison, while Daryl was licking his own fingers clean, that Carol put her plate down by her boot, and turned her head to look over at the man sitting next to her.

He was staring over at his bike.

"Did you want go up to the tower tonight?"

The corner of his mouth twitched just once, before he let out on a faint huff. "You know I'm always up to go to the tower with you, Carol. All you gotta do is tell me when to show up."

Then he put his bowl down on the bench next to him, and turned to look over at her. His brow wrinkled.

"I was thinking though, maybe we could clean up another one of the offices, and make a nest in there. 'Cuz when winter comes, it'll be too cold for you to be gettin' naked outside."

Her eyes crinkled.

"Just too cold for me?"

"Hmm," he hummed softly, his eyes again drifting over to lock onto his bike, "yeah, you don't have no fat on you, sweetheart." He turned then, both his expression and tone softening as his gaze shifted back to hers. "I can't have you gettin' sick. What would I do without you?"

Feeling a burning in her eyes, and a pull in her gut, Carol had to look down for a moment. Because she knew that if she continued to look over at this man who was more than she'd ever had before, she was going to start crying.

Finally though, she pushed away those tears to look back at him with a faint smile, and a twinkle in her eye.

"The office for the Recreational Counselor would be perfect," she pointed out, "it's the smallest one, and we'd have some privacy because it's in a clean building, but at the far end of the administration area."

"Kind of fittin' too," he answered with a slow nod, "using the recreation one, because that is our exercise."

She let out a little giggle then, and he nudged her shoulder.

"Come on," he put his hand out to help her up, "got somethin' to show ya."

So she let him take her fingers, and just as he was pulling them both to their feet, she snagged her bowl up from the asphalt with her other hand. Then she took his from where it was dangling from his fingertips. And with him still holding her other hand, they started back towards the door leading into their cell block.

When they got inside, it was no surprise to find the place empty. It was dinnertime after all, and people tended to be more social for the evening meal when they were all just looking to decompress after a long day of smashing in walker skulls, or just trying not to get killed on the supply runs.

So with the sound of their boots echoing through the cavernous space, Carol placed the bowls down on one of the empty tables, and let Daryl continue to lead her along through the gate leading to their sleeping quarters.

It was pretty clear at that point he was taking her to one of their cells, so as they started up the stairs, she just watched to see where he'd stop. But then they'd reached the middle of the aisle and he stopped to pull the sheet back.

Her cell.

He walked her through, and over to her desk. That's when they stopped again before he raised his free hand up, to point down at what he'd left there on the scuffed wood.

"Had some time this afternoon," he stated softly, "so figured maybe I could help you get your memory bag started."

Her eyes started to water then as she looked down. The pictures that she'd wanted to take . . . they were all right there.

Carl holding Judith in her green squirrel onesie . . . there were identical grins on both their faces. Hershel and Beth with their heads bowed doing grace over what looked to be their noon meal. Maggie and Glenn holding hands as they walked through the courtyard.

Then there was Rick alone.

He was stooped down in the garden by his tomato plants. It clear from his expression, that Daryl must have said something smart to him just before he'd taken the picture. Because even in the small black and white frame, she could see that glint in Rick's eye, and the faint smirk on his lips . . . he looked happy.

Everyone looked so happy.

Still though, as she brushed her finger along the small line of tiny pictures, she knew that one was missing. So she turned to Daryl with a sniffle and a teary smile.

"Where are you?"

His lip quirked up.

"Right here," he whispered back as he reached out to catch one of the tears sliding down her face, "always right here."

Of course that just made those happy tears fall even faster. But he just kept wiping them away until they stopped. Then with her eyes only just a little watery by then, his hand fell away, and she brought her arms up to wrap them around his neck. And she squeezed him so tight.

So tight.

"Thank you _so_ much, hon," she sniffed while rubbing her cheek on his shoulder, "this is just what I wanted."

"Yeah well," Daryl let out a sigh as he rubbed his hand down her back, "when I saw Judith was wearing her squirrel today, I started to kinda see the point you were making. I mean, I still just took the mental picture but," he tipped his head back to give her a faint smile, "I took the real one for you."

She let her hands slide up from his neck, to cup both sides of his jaw.

"That's because you're becoming soft and sentimental in your old age," she joked back with a grin.

"Pfft, you stop," he snorted with a twitch of his lips. And she could see how the smile was starting to pull at the corners of his mouth, so he looked over her shoulder . . . and then back down to her face.

His expression began to soften then.

"I know you're just jokin'," he whispered back, "but you should know, I only took the pictures because they was something you wanted. And," he nodded, "you gettin' things you want, that's important to me. Right after you bein' safe, you bein' happy is the next thing on my list."

Her eyes started to burn once again then as she gave him another bright, tear filled, smile.

"I love you too, hon," she choked down on a sob. Then she leaned up on her tiptoes to press another kiss to his lips. It was soft and gentle . . . because it was only intended as a thank you for all the ways, every day, that he did show her that he loved her. And showing it always meant so much more than just saying it.

Everyone knew that.

So when she finally broke away, and dropped back to her boots, she reached up to pat his chest with one hand, while she reached over to pick up the camera with the other.

"Come on," she sniffed, "I need to have one of us."

So with him giving her an indulgent smile and shake of his head, he took the camera from her hands. Then they walked across the cell, stepped through the curtain, and out onto the catwalk to catch the late afternoon light.

As he brought the camera up, she tipped her head over to press her cheek against his.

"Ready?" he asked. And she nodded.

"Yep."

So he raised his arm a little higher . . . and pressed the button. Then he brought the camera down again.

The picture started to slide out almost immediately.

He pinched the edge of it with the tips of his fingers and brought it up so they could both see the end result. What they got made her heart swell. Because they'd had just enough back dropped sunlight coming in the windows, to get a perfect shot. Her smile was soft and faint . . . his was mostly in his eyes . . . but anybody could see how much they were in love.

Both of them.

"See," she said, her voice crackling as she turned to him, "this is why I wanted to take the pictures. Because this here," she threw a glance towards the photo in his hand, "it's a new memory. Because I've never seen us together before. So now," she swallowed, "even if this photo is lost," her voice broke, "or one of us is, we'll still have this image to carry with us." Then she cleared her throat, and looked up at him with a little smile.

"That's pretty great, right?"

For a second he just looked down at her, then his lip quirked up.

"Yeah," he answered back with one of his little nods, "yeah, it is pretty great."

Then he walked them back into the cell, put both the photo, and the camera, down on her desk. When he turned back around, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her over to his chest for another cuddle.

After a moment he tipped his head down to rest against hers.

"I was thinkin'," he whispered with a light scratch of his nails along her back, "that if you were all right with it, I could maybe move my stuff in here with yours. You know," his hand stilled, "it just seems kinda silly us being separate, 'cuz uh," he let out a heavy sigh, "well, I don't want to be separate no more."

Feeling a fresh sting in her eyes . . . more happy tears, she was full of them today . . . Carol tipped her head back and sniffled.

"I don't want to be separate anymore either. Though," her mouth quivered, "it might be hard to make room in here for you, that bow, and your one clean shirt." Then she grinned. "We should really keep your cell just for storage."

He let out a soft chuckle at that as he brought his hand off her hip, to brush his thumb along her cheek.

"You are the most ridiculous woman I ever met," he huffed while leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. And that was a kiss that was much more passionate than their earlier one. So as she felt his tongue sweep into her mouth and his hands sliding under her shirt, she just let out a happy moan. It didn't take long from there, before she felt the growing bulge begin to press against her stomach.

She began to giggle against his mouth.

"So I guess we're not waiting for the tower?" She mumbled with a playful nibble of his lower lip.

"Oh we're still going to the tower," he growled back while moving his hands down from her breasts, to start undoing her belt, "but I need you right now too."

And that right there was why they couldn't be separate anymore . . . that need to be together was with them all the time now. So while he was pulling off their knives . . . sharp blades and naked genitals were not a good combination . . . she moved to get his pants undone. Because after all these months of getting together, they had a process to these things. Steps that each of them was responsible for handling. Like he took care of the belts and weapons, she did the snaps and zippers. They were always in sync these days.

Even in bed.

This bed wasn't the place though for the type of fun that they'd have up in the tower. No, their couplings on the cell block were different. They were always quiet.

On some days, they didn't even drop much more on the floor than their weapons.

That was the case on that day. Because once their zippers were undone and all of the sharp objects were placed where they couldn't do any harm, she pushed Daryl's pants and boxers down and past his hips. That's when he took a step back, and with his body naked from waist to knees, he dropped down onto the edge of the chair. Then he reached up with both hands to yank her pants all the way down to the tops of her boots. From there, she quickly kicked one boot off, to get that leg loose.

She climbed into his lap.

Of course he was already more than ready for her, and she was definitely ready for him. So it was simply a matter of him lifting her up. And with a shift of his hips . . . and him slowly lowering her down . . . they were joined together.

She buried her face against his throat with another happy sigh.

Not only at that feeling of having him inside her . . . though that was the greatest feeling in the world . . . but because this position in particular, was one of her favorites.

The one where she got to cuddle in his lap.

The things they could do out in the tower, and the things Daryl's _tongue_ could do in particular, on the pleasure scale, that sex was off the charts passionate, and amazing. But this though, she thought with a kiss to his neck, the quiet, conjoined cuddling . . . sometimes totally naked, sometimes not . . . that was an eight point five all by itself.

And that was before even one stroke was taken.

This time they stayed at their eight point five for a good twenty or thirty seconds all while Daryl just nuzzled her cheek, and held her close. Finally though he took a deep breath, and pushed up, pressing so far into her womb that he took _her_ breath away completely. Then she squeezed him so tight that he let out a growl. And she kept up that pressure as they started to move together.

It was like a seesaw.

Up on one side . . . down on the other. And after barely a minute, each of them was panting with every stroke. They'd been together so many times by then, that they both knew just the rhythm to get them right where they needed to be.

They were still quiet though.

They were always quiet on the block. Because usually the whole family was spread out through that echoey space. Not now though, not with everyone at dinner. Still, habits like that weren't broken. So when she began to whimper, she immediately buried her face into the V of Daryl's open shirt, and bit down on his collarbone. And as she broke through the skin, and tasted that tinge of copper on her tongue, he let out his own groan of pleasure.

That's when he started moving them faster and faster. Doing that thing where he gyrated his hips, and drove her absolutely wild. From their respective, muffled, gasps and moans, she knew that he was as close to the brink as she was . . . and then they fell.

And what a fall it was.

A bright, white light filling her mind, as that warmth shot out from her core through to her fingers and the tips of her toes. Because even without Daryl's tongue in the mix, not once had they ever had bad sex.

Even that first time, with their five to six minutes in the laundry room.

That certainly wasn't their _best_ sex . . . five minutes wasn't _anyone's_ best sex . . . but given how neither of them had properly gotten off in over a year, and he'd had the presence of mind to work her clit with his thumb as they'd pounded against the wall, five minutes was really all it had taken.

On both sides.

This time wasn't like that though. This was a good fifteen, twenty minutes. And when they were done, she just stayed there in his lap, straddling his hips, with her cheek resting on his shoulder. He had one hand cradling the back of her head, and the other arm wrapped around her waist.

Finally after maybe a minute or so, he let out a slow, heavy breath.

"That was some good shit," he hummed while bringing his head down to kiss her temple, "thank you, sweetheart."

She started to giggle against his neck.

"I do so love it when you thank me for sex," she leaned back to give him a grin and his hand slid down her back, "especially when you make it sound like we just came from a boxing match."

His mouth quivered.

"Yeah well," he huffed, "at least we both won the fight." Then he patted her bare hip.

"So you wanna go up the tower now, and have some more fun? We could pack a snack and some water, make a night of it." His eyes crinkled as he continued on with a hopeful tone, "you know we've only done a few things from that magazine, and you did say we could try at least couple new ones each week."

Thinking back on the pages he'd folded down in the old Cosmo Sex Issue that he'd found out on a drugstore run last month, Carol started to laugh.

"Hon, I already _told_ you," she chuckled, "we can't do any of those ones on page fifty-two! We're too old to have sex standing on our head. You should just give that page to Glenn. _But_ ," she immediately continued on when she saw how his face had started to fall, "if you think you're up for it," she gave him a sly grin, "and you give me a nice long massage first to get me all limbered up, we can try two more tonight from the other pages. Totally your choice, just," she gave him a good natured eye roll, "nothing where I end up upside down. I'll get vertigo."

Before she'd even finished speaking, he was already shaking his head.

"Oh no sweetheart," he answered earnestly, "nothin' upside down, I promise. But," he gave her a look, "we should bring a couple extra pillows with us, 'cuz I been studying up, and," he gave her a serious nod, "we're goin' to need some pillows."

Now picturing a few of the moves he probably had in mind, Carol's mouth quivered.

"All right," she huffed, "pillows it is. So," she started wriggling backwards, feeling him slip out when she did, "we should get moving so we can get everything set before we lose the light."

As she started to stand up, and that trickle of moisture slipped down onto her inner thigh, Daryl reached out to put his hand on her waist to keep her steady.

Though she could see that he looked a little confused too.

"What do we need the sunlight for?" He asked with a wrinkle of his brow. "We know what's what in the dark."

"Oh _we_ might know what's what," she answered with a saucy grin, "but," she turned and picked up the camera, "this doesn't." She turned back, "and if I'm letting you twist me into a pretzel and balance me on top of a stack of pillows, you can guarantee that I'm going to be taking at least one naked picture of you."

For a second Daryl just stared up at her, wide eyed, like he'd just found himself caught in a walker trap. Then he looked over, first at the camera in her hand, then second, down between her legs . . . then finally over to the two pillows lying on the bed.

His eyes snapped back to hers. A slow grin spread across his face.

"Deal."

* * *

 _A/N 2: If interested, you can see the Caryl picture (really a McReedus one) that I decided was the pic they could have taken on the catwalk, along with Judith's adorable little squirrel onesie, over on the Tumblr story post._

 _Originally I had ended this on a heavier note. Or more that they had a heavier post coital conversation before they decided to go to the tower. But then I decided that tonally I wanted to keep it lighter, so I switched out the heavy stuff for the image of Daryl finding a dust covered Cosmo Sex Issue that he had hidden away in his bag before anyone else saw him pick it up :) And then I just could totally see him lying in his bunk, kind of fascinated by the pictures, and turning down the pages to show Carol later. Then her going through afterwards marking them up with a pen, "yes, no, yes, yes, yes, no, no, maybe, no. Hell no. Yes." There you go, there's your prequel here :)_

 _And if you recall the episode, you'll see some threads pulled from canon that I wound in here a little differently. Like I had Glenn grab two cameras instead of just one. But really, if I found a stack of cameras like that, I'd be like, "hell, I should take them all back and give everyone the option of taking a couple pictures if they want to try and see if they can hold onto them."_

 _Also, I felt realistically that Daryl would be very supportive of Carol's weapons training with the kids. I'd like to think that in canon he did know. Because he understood as intimately, and devastatingly, as Carol did, what can happen to innocent little girls when they get separated from their adult protectors. So even this phase of Daryl, 'Responsible Council Guy,' wouldn't give a crap about whether they have Parental Permission Slips for those kids to learn how to use the knives. And that sounds so ridiculous that those would be a thing here, but really that's what it would basically be, and that WOULD be, a completely asinine conversation to have. It should be more, if you want entry into their group, you should have to agree to A) pitch in where you can, and B) have your entire family go through an official weapons training if you want to be allowed to stay. Otherwise, you're just bringing in walker bait and dead weight. Also, two years into the Apocalypse, what idiot WOULDN'T want their children knowing how to protect themselves in a world like that? So yeah, I thought it was pretty dumb that Carol would have even needed to hide that to start. But anyway, I just didn't see her hiding it from Daryl at all, especially if they were in a relationship. So the reasoning that she uses the next day with Carl about why he doesn't need to tell his dad, in this variation, that reasoning comes directly from her conversation here with Daryl._

 _Also, after season one, the core family members are never focused on goodbyes, but they do very much keep track of each other, so I figure the Caryl version of a love note would be, 'gone to check the snares' :)_

 _I don't know if there was a point where The Governor was obsessed with keeping track of the days, but it seems like something that could be true, right?_

 _And Daryl becoming an avid reader, I think with Carol's influence, secure shelter, and a full library, that could happen. There's a canon seed for that, if you recall in season two when Andrea gives him a new book after she shoots him. He reads the back and flips through it for a seconds before he jokes, 'no pictures?' :)_

 _I am trying to get my brain to stay focused on cleaning up the chapters I have in my ongoing stories (I do have fat drafts going in all of them) but if I get stuck again, I am kind of intrigued by the idea of doing another one shot in this universe with a variation on the infection sequence with this version of them. You know, the one where they tell each other everything, and are sharing the same bunk. Because I feel like it would right a wrong (and keep her further from the eventual breakdown) to let Carol have Daryl in her corner for what she did there. Not that it's likely he would have sanctioned it beforehand, but that she would have told him afterwards, and that she would have been able to express her grief over what she'd felt was the only thing to do to save the group. She never got that in canon. She had to cry by herself in the courtyard, and then Rick was an ass and dumped her off alone with no chance to explain to the others why she'd done what she'd done. Later, yes to Tyreese she got to tell him what happened too, but by then she'd been abandoned, her family was destroyed, the girls were dead, Lizzie by her hand, and the damage was far too deep._

 _Anyway, Cedar Forest is also done (it finished neck and neck this with) so it should be up sometime before the weekend, then it will either be the Mcreedus story (which you can find on the 'Nine Lives' site if you're interested and don't know about it), or another one shot I've been working on for the last few months. That's a season one story that takes place in the CDC. After that, I promise I am trying to get This Is Now on deck. But those chapters are so long and involved, that I'd like to clear the shelves first of what's ready to go, and then dive back in there._

 _Thanks all! :)_


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